


Iron & Salt

by HagSpice



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Altruism, Angst, Betrayal, But he's really a US Marshal, Character Death, Crimes & Criminals, Drama & Romance, F/M, Forgiveness, Gunslinger Kyle, M/M, Moral Dilemmas, Non-Explicit Sex, Outlaw Tweek, Secret Relationship, Secrets, South Park: Phone Destroyer AU, Train Robbery, Tweek is sort of a pyro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-29 12:24:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20796602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HagSpice/pseuds/HagSpice
Summary: Right and wrong, law and anarchy, love and obsession. The dividing line may seem absolute, but west of Mississippi that distinction is blurry.After a notorious outlaw robs a train bound from the Federal Reserve to Denver, US Marshal Kyle Broflovski is called in to help the local law enforcement.For Twyle Week 2019, continued for 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist writing a Western for Day 3. I've always enjoyed the genre, especially the verbose style of writing, the action, and larger than life archetypes. So much fun! This is going to be multiple chapters, but not exceedingly long, perhaps 10? 
> 
> I'm also branching out beyond my usual writing topics to add some drama, ouchy feelings, moral conflict, and as the tags say, someone(s) gonna die. Also this contains more idioms than you can shake a stick at.
> 
> I've made a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7vtOVhlpESpU7qygRvfJEp?si=LUCdRzA6SCWrXFj0zbklYw) for this story, and it slaps pretty dang hard, if I do say so myself.

The warm summer breeze loomed, heavy and foreboding in Tweek’s private train cabin. The lack of nosey travelers trying to make polite conversation eased his paranoid mind considerably, but the gravity of his task refused to lift the atmosphere. The extra expense of having his own cabin was more than worth it, because after this job, he and Bebe would be set. He’d ride to a decent sized town, send word to Bebe, and buy train tickets. In a couple of days, they’d be on their way to the east coast by way of St. Louis, they’d always wanted to visit the place where this dust caked, amoral wasteland met civility and opportunity. 

No more stalling. Tweek stripped off his vest and cravat, carefully folding and tucking them into his leather bag. It was a damn shame he had to ruin a nice set of trousers and shirt for this, but within a couple hours, money would no longer be a worry. He had a solid four hour block until they reached the next station, time which was much needed to get his haul to his horse and get the hell out of Dodge. With a shaky breath, Tweek left his cabin to walk down the aisle of the car, each of his footsteps feeling like they were sinking into mud rather than gliding along plush carpet. A case of nerves before a job, large or small, was normal; Tweek wasn’t cocky enough to assume he was above making a mistake or two. But he’d bet it all on this one, the heist that could literally mean life or death, and not only for himself.

Sliding the backdoor open, he stepped onto the small open deck between the train cars and took a deep breath. Dammit, he should’ve lit a cigarette before coming out here so he could have one last moment of respite before cashing in all his chips. What a fine position to be in. If his parents hadn’t been complete fools, he could have been a passenger on this train, on his way to El Paso or San Francisco. Maybe he could’ve seen the Pacific ocean.

The wind whipped his hair around to destroy his meticulous coiffure, and Tweek closed his eyes against the grit in the air. Blindly, he took his holster from his satchel and strapped it on. The comforting weight of the conditioned leather began to settle his apprehension, bringing him somewhere close to calm when he slid a revolver into place at each hip. After tying a bandana over the lower half of his face, Tweek climbed the short ladder to the roof of the car.

His thoughts fell away, giving way to his senses and surroundings as he crawled along the roof, pulling himself forward on his elbows and knees. The sun soaked metal seared his skin, even through his clothes, and he was thankful his goal was only two cars behind; a windowless rectangle flanked by utility cars, and three known armed guards, two inside and one outside. At least, those were the details he acquired from his sources, he could only hope the schematic and the itinerary were up to date. 

It was fascinating what one could hear while working in the kitchens of the wealthy and powerful, or tending bar at a social club. That’s usually how word about a potential honey pot traveled. Some loudmouth who was deep in a bottle of whiskey or trying to impress someone would attempt to gain clout by braying about a shipment of gold ingots and newly minted money, which was en route from the Federal Reserve to the banking capital of the west. Word of the traveling loot would pass from person to person, until it reached someone who could make the bit of gossip profitable. 

His recent work had become much grander in scale and required an expansion of his usual associates. These were men who only dealt in high profile commodities, purely for the notoriety and chance of a high payout. Infamy in death and a bounty on your head was worn like a badge of honor by them. They were the most dangerous of criminals, driven by their own hubris and greed to take what they felt entitled to, be it money or lives. Tweek hated to strike a deal with such folk, they were shrewd in business practice, but as long as they got paid, they minded their own.

Usually targets on the modest end of the scale was more than enough to sustain Tweek. A stagecoach of wealthy travelers, or a shop that sold fine collectibles, but living on luxury borrowed from the privileged was just that; borrowed. When things took a turn for the worse, those profits could no longer support Tweek’s mission. What led him to the roof of a train car dispatched from the Federal Reserve was what usually pushed people to the point of break. Love and death.

Tweek had been in the contractual procurement business his whole life, and while he was somewhat of a local legend in the crime community, notoriety was the last thing he needed right now. He’d be dangling from a rope right quick if his name ended up attached to a bank robbery. Casting a wide net, Tweek put out decoy inquiries to keep the heat off the legitimate ones, which meant more money in more hands, but the payoff was what made the gambit worthwhile. As far as an alias went, all he had to do was use a bit of smoke and mirrors. The citizens of Denver did the rest.

He had laughed to beat the band the first time he saw his name in print.  _ The Wildfire Phantom _ . Tweek wasn’t mysterious, not at all, but he was stealthy, and loved to play with gunpowder. No one had ever caught sight of his face. Only vague details had been recounted; slightly below average height, pale hair, slight frame. The Wildfire Phantom could be anyone, man, woman, or even a young adult. Tweek was a ghost, breaking in under cover of flash and thunder, to grab what he needed and hightail it before his veil cleared. With shock and awe on his side all Tweek needed was some rope, a gag in the mouth, and a sash over the eyes to subdue any witnesses. 

Peeking over the edge of the car, Tweek sized up the guard below him. A stocky man wearing what looked like an unmarked uniform, standing attentive, but with a relaxed hand on the gun at his hip. It had to be a Fed, or someone deputized by the government at the least. While Tweek couldn’t be sure of the man’s skill, he looked strong, and more importantly, he was armed. Incapacitate and restrain would be the preferred method, but with a muscled body and a good forty pounds on Tweek, the guard could overpower him with no trouble if he had his wits about him.

Tweek shimmied away from the edge of the roof and began to dig through his satchel, pushing objects aside until his fingers caught a wrapped bundle. Laid out on his stomach, Tweek unwrapped the trinkets of his fancy. Smoke, flash and a bang, that was his calling card. Taking out his cap lighter, he sparked the fuse of a small cartridge, and once a plume of smoke erupted, he held it over the edge of the roof.  _ 1...2...3...4... _ Tweek dropped the cartridge just before it emitted a shower of sparks. The guard jumped as it landed on the deck but before he could react further, great billowing clouds came spewing out of the device. Watching the top of the guard’s hat bob among the smoke, Tweek waited until he heard hacking coughs from below, and pushed off the roof. 

Tweek landed directly behind the man, kicking the backs of his knees. The guard fell forward and though he tried to turn to face his attacker, he was busy clutching a handkerchief in front of his eyes and nose. Casual as a stroll in the park, Tweek took one of his pistols and brought the butt end of it down on the guard’s head. He slumped against the rail, and Tweek kicked the smoking cartridge onto the scrolling ground below. Before the smoke had cleared, Tweek had set about hogtying the man to the railing. After trussing a bandana over the eyes and a gag in his mouth, he decided to administer one last whack on the head for good measure. Now for the tricky part.

Lithe and agile, Tweek climbed back to the roof of the train car. Two more men waited inside and he was not about to waltz into probable gunfire, no they would have to mind their manners and come out to greet their guest. Reaching in his satchel, he brought out his favorite toy, his sweet  _ Bomboncita _ . He gave the little ball a kiss for luck and quickly regretted it, stopping to wipe his lips on his sleeve before lighting each of the twin fuses. 

_ Deep breath in. Out. In. Out- _

Tweek launched the explosive up the explosive up the track, his eyes wide with worry as he watched it sail through the air. Two cars ahead, it bounced onto the stones piled along the edge of the track. He wanted to throw his hat in the air, cheer and whistle, but even though it was a job well done, it was far too early for a celebration. Hurriedly, Tweek fastened his satchel and climbed to the edge of the car as the first explosion went. It was a harmless thing, more dramatics than anything else, hardly enough to blow a twelve inch hole in the ground, let alone harm five tons of steel. As he reached the deck, the door slid open.

Waiting for the guards to emerge, Tweek drew one of his pistols and readied himself to launch. Only one man stepped out, closing the door behind as he whipped his head around, looking for smoke or outriders. This one was taller than the first, but wiry. Also, easier to reach. The guard went for his gun right before the second detonation went off. A burst of gravel popped into the air, and his gun stayed pointed at the aspen trees in the distance as he shielded his face with the other arm. 

Tweek pounced, landing feet first into the man’s back. Falling against the railing, the guard groaned and wheezed as he fought to regain his breath, while Tweek tumbled onto the deck. When Tweek climbed to his knees, a fist clipped the side of his head, but the guard was stunned and unsteady; more than hurting, it raised his bristles. Growling like a mountain lion, Tweek smashed the barrel of his pistol into the man’s shin. The guard stumbled as he coughed wheezed, trying to cry out in pain while his lungs hadn’t yet recuperated. This was taking far too long. Still on his knees, Tweek slugged him in the gut, sighing in relief as the man crumpled into a ball.

Tweek was already tying him up before he could even struggle, his bindings were lightning fast and tighter than a miser’s coin purse. He’d been tied up plenty of times himself, whether for practice or by his father’s business associates, and after holding Richard Tweak’s only child as collateral a half dozen times, they stopped even trying to tie him up. he was just as smart tying up as he was tying down.

He knew it would be a risk this time around, more guards, plenty of iron pointed right at his chest, and he’d seen what happened when a job went bad, yes indeed. So far, he’d been riding high on the thrill of a fight and lighting things up, but now, for the first time since he left the train depot, Tweek was rattled. This was a fool’s errand, a child’s daydream, not something a twenty seven year old man should be carrying on with. But he’d come this far, and someone far more important than himself was in need.

It had only been a few seconds, but it felt like he’d lost an hour while he stood on the deck battling with himself. The explosions would draw people soon enough, and there was another guard on the other side of the door waiting for him. The two men will still out cold, so after he tossed their pistols overboard, he took any pocket money they had. Whatever he got from this job would be too hot to sell, especially in Colorado, and he’d insisted that Bebe keep his savings in the meantime.

It was coming up on midday, and Tweek sure felt it as a few beads of sweat trickled down his cheek. Well, he’d find some shade inside the car, wouldn’t he? Pressing his back against the car, he reached over and pulled the door toward himself. Before the door was open all the way, a bullet whizzed past, taking a chunk from the door as it ricocheted through. Tweek could see a small sliver of the car interior, but it wasn’t enough to be of any real help, and with the sun directly above, he couldn’t rely on any shadows to give away the guard’s cover. 

Tweek chose to incapacitate any witnesses, and to use his pistols only as a last resort. More than anything, he kept his iron on display as a threat. Killing was rarely necessary, (or not at all, depending on your morals) and no one should have to die as a result of Tweek’s life choices. Though right now, there was a man who had no qualms about firing at him, and usual methods would only fill a confined boxcar with smoke and sparks.

He was caught off guard with the first shot, unable to truly tell the angle of origin, so Tweek crouched down, sticking the barrel of his gun through doorway and firing. Another bullet flew past, nearly grazing the door frame before it flew off into the rolling fields beyond the track. At an angle, but perpendicular to his own. Aiming his gun the best he could, Tweek burst through the entry with his eyes glued to the area the guard was hiding. The toe of a boot peeked around the edge of a crate, and he could see a sliver of a tan suede hat over the top, barely able to cover behind the crate. This was a big hoss of a man who could take Tweek down in an instant if he got within reach.

Crouching low, Tweek fell into a slide, aiming his gun as he skidded in front of the crate, and as soon as he saw anything beyond the toe of the man’s boot, he fired. In a mirrored dance, the guard leaned, following the line of Tweek’s trajectory, firing a split second behind him. Tweek’s bullet struck the guard in the chest, the force snapping his torso back as he fired at Tweek. The shot went wide, cleanly missing Tweek and lodging in the opposite wall of the car. He felt like he was underwater; his ears clogged and unable to hear as he sluggishly turned on his knees to find the man he just shot, he needed to make sure he was on the ground, but at the same time, Tweek couldn’t think about what that implied. Then Tweek’s ears began to ring, and like an alarm, the sound spurred him into action. A hand peeked out from behind the row of crates, and as Tweek crawled over, he saw pooling blood spreading toward the outstretched fingers. Falling to the man’s side, he stared at what he had done.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry. I c-can fix it, lemme just  _ ack _ I’ll fix it.” Fumbling with his bag, Tweek pulled out the vest he’d worn earlier when he was just a passenger. Just a passenger doing a bit of traveling. Not what he was now, not a murde- “ _ Gah _ here, here this’ll help.” 

Tweek balled up his vest and pressed it to the red bloom on the man’s chest. Tweek could see the man’s lips moving and felt the vibrations when he groaned, but all he could hear was the ringing in his ears. His eyes were wide and rolling in his head like a poor unsuspecting horse that had snapped its leg in a hole, and his hands uselessly pawed at his chest. The vest was bloody, sticky in his hands, and so soon! It wasn’t enough, there was too much blood. Tweek jumped up, whirling around the car looking for something to staunch the flow. 

Nothing but crates. Crates and crates, big and small. All marked “United States Federal Reserve”.

Tweek whined low in his throat as his eyes flicked between the bleeding man and the money he’d come to take. It was too much pressure, deciding if this stranger should live or die. While he hemmed and hawed, his mind began niggling at him, starting a chant of  _ Notimenotimenotime. _ Clapping his hands over his ears, Tweek screamed until his voice cracked. The world usually forced everything upon him, indifferent to his consent, why  _ now _ of all times did he have to choose for himself? 

He picked up the guard’s pistols and popped open the chamber to shake the bullets onto the floor, then he hurled them to different corners of the car; the bleeding man likely wouldn’t be able to fire them, let alone reach them, but Tweek couldn’t help cursing the wicked things as they thumped against the walls. Later, later he would grieve and howl and beat the tar out of something. For now, there was so much left to do.

Picking up a crowbar lying on the floor, Tweek went for one of the large crates. He pried it open and gasped. Though he expected to find this, nothing could prepare him for the sight of dozens of gold ingots glinting before him. He ran his fingers over the cool metal, letting out a breathless laugh as he hefted one in his hand; gold was good, but it was also heavy. Moving to one of the smaller crates, he found what he was looking for. Paper notes, sweet legal tender. Fumbling with his bag, Tweek yanked out a large canvas sack and began stuffing it to the gills with the bundles on money. 

How much had he taken? His mind was swimming and his ears still rang from the gunshot, the blood, and the man he... Tweek couldn’t surmise how much was in the sack, so he stripped his shirt over his head and started filling it, too. Tying his it into a secure bundle, he took another look at the gold bars. He couldn’t have  _ too much _ money, right? After stuffing as many ingots as he could into his satchel, Tweek turned to the entrance of the car. He couldn’t see the guard, where was the guard?

A smeared trail of blood ran along the floorboards and stopped a few feet from the open door. The injured guard was on his side, grimacing as he pulled himself along. Tweek’s hearing was coming back, and his blood ran cold when he heard the cries of agony from the man, and he swayed on his feet before his instincts took over. Running toward the door with his bundles, Tweek looked over the railing. As he planned, the ground below the tracks was open and grassy, with a thick line of trees a ways out. 

Without much grace, Tweek heaved the canvas sack of the railing, watching as it tumbled to the high grasses. Not hesitating for even a second, he clamped his shirt bundle under his arm and climber over the side of the rail. Hanging off the edge of a train car in his undershirt was rather refreshing, the wind whipping around him was a blessed reprieve from the stifling car, and thankfully, was helping set him to rights. Taking one last look at the men he’d subdued, he saw one of the bound guards yelling back and forth with the one he’d shot. But with no time to lose, Tweek positioned the heels of his boots on the scant few inches of the deck, and hugged the bundle of bills to his chest. Ignoring everything around him, let go of the railing.

  
  


For nearly four hours, he trudged through the underbrush behind the tree line until he reached the grove he’d camped at for the last two days. He was sore all over from his tumble off the train car, and his haul was powerful heavy against his hunched back. When he caught sight of Cora’s brown flank shining in the sunlight, the exhaustion hit him like a lead plum to the chest. Nearly falling to his knees in relief, Tweek stumbled toward his mare. She whinnied as she nosed at his bag, and Tweek had never been so grateful for her companionship. Twisting his fingers in her coarse mane, he finally let himself cry. They were wet, ugly wails that came in battering waves, until his mouth was full of salt. For a brief moment he opened his eyes, suddenly paranoid that someone had seen or heard him, but all he saw was dark, coppery blood dry and flaking on the backs of hands.

Tweek let his body howl and quake until he had nothing left in him. He was sick with guilt and fear, and wanted nothing more than to lay upon the earth until the sun bleached his bones, but he had promises to keep for lives worth far more than his own. In a numb daze, Tweek moved about camp, pulling his meager possessions from under the brush, floating above himself to watch like Ebenezer Scrooge witnessing his misdeeds of the past. 

After all his supplies were packed and strapped, he dug into his provisions; oats for Cora, dried meat for himself, and a couple mealy apples between the two of them. It would be the best meal he’d have over the next day or so, but he was thankful to have it. Too much time had already ticked by, and there weren’t enough miles between the nearest train depot and himself. Tweek had to send a telegram to Bebe. Kenny could help him lay low for a little while, he could go to South Park.

  
  


Tweek shoved the swinging doors open with the heel of his hand and stalked past the mostly empty tables. It was midmorning, good. With the state he was currently in, the fewer eyes and ears, the better. There were only two people he could trust in this town, and if he could help it, he would make damn sure that neither of them knew the details behind his unscheduled visit.

The barkeep turned at the sound of Tweek’s boot heels clicking across the weathered floorboards, some loose tendrils of her ash blonde hair whipping at her cheeks. Regarding her potential customer with amused curiosity, she gave Tweek a small smirk. Her hazel eyes were sharp, and he didn’t doubt for a second that she could size him up in the time it took her to pour a drink, but he also had the impression that she regarded him like a rattlesnake; as long as he caused no trouble, she’d let him be.

“What can I get you, traveler?”

Slapping a golden eagle coin on the lacquered oak slab, Tweek tipped his hat back to address the woman. 

“A bottle of Tequila, a scalding hot bath, and tell me where the hell I can find Kenny McCormick.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... it's been a year. I haven't posted *anything* in a whole year. Whoops. This year has been garbage, am i rite? 
> 
> I'm excited to continue this story after Twyle Week ends. In the next chapter we'll meet Kyle and he will meet Tweek.

Dusk settled over the mountain peaks, creating a glow of blushing pink and orange at the horizon. Higher above, the heavens faded into deep purple, which allowed the stars to shine. The blazing heat of the summer day had left with the sun. Kenny was thankful for the reprieve after a day of working in the pastures repairing fences. While winters in the Colorado Territory were brutal, the clear and crisp summer nights were glorious.

A young man rushed around Main Street with a ladder and lantern to light the street lamps. Kenny tried to recall his name. _ Fillmore? _ The boy was close to Karen’s age so he ought to remember, seeing as how Kenny and his sister had lived in South Park ten years now. Especially because of Karen and Fillmore’s close age. She was likely to be courted by someone soon, and while Kenny disliked that thought greatly, he knew he couldn’t prevent it. Karen was now a grown woman.

Presently, that grown woman ambled toward the South Park community hall, her arm linked with Tricia Tucker. The two had been fast friends since the day they met all those years ago. Kenny could hear their giggles and the rasp of their whispers through the still night air, and the conspiratorial way they bowed their heads together made them look like the little girls Karen taught at the South Park primary school.

As the two ladies approached, Karen made a surprised gasp.

“Patricia! You do go on!”

“Well, that’s what I heard from Flora anyway.” Tricia stuck her tongue out at her friend. “And don’t call me that. Only ma and pa can do that, and not without getting the one finger salute.”

The girls came to a stop, and Kenny offered Tricia a nod of greeting.

“‘Evening, Tricia.”

“Hi Kenny.” Tricia gave Karen’s arm a fond squeeze for letting it go. “I’m off to find the family. I’ll see y’all later, yeah?”

The McCormick siblings waved, watching Tricia head into the hall with a flip of her strawberry blonde braid.

Karen looked around before frowning.

“Is Tweek not joining us?”

Kenny shook his head.

“He’s staying in, says he wants to enjoy the quiet while he can get it. Organizing his affairs and whatnot so he’ll be ready to send for Bebe when he gets back from the supply run.”

“I think he just isn’t as entertained by the meetings as we are,” Karen mused.

“Mhmm those big city tastes.”

“Well, he’s readying for his trip to Pagosa Springs tomorrow. I ‘spose we shouldn’t be too hard on him since he’s helping out Jimmy.”

That was true enough. Traveling was hell on Jimmy’s palsy, and he didn’t hesitate to accept when Tweek offered to make the supply run for the general store. Thinking of the general store, Kenny reached into his satchel and rooted around for the small paper bag he brought for this evening.

“Oh, alright then, I’ll let it lie.” Kenny teased. Smiling, he held out the small bag to his little sister. “I think I have something we can enjoy instead. What would an night at the theater be without sweets?”

They hadn’t been to the theater since the time they visited Bebe and Tweek in Denver three years ago. Karen sorely missed the enchanting music and dancers, and seeing her favorite stories come to life. Gosh, she should get her students to perform a play! That would be a high time.

“Kenny, you didn’t!

“Jelly beans! Vanilla creme flavor, because-”

“Because licorice is vile! Such frivolities, you spoil me too much, Ken.”

Karen took a jelly bean from the bag and popped it in her mouth. She savored it a moment until she couldn’t wait any longer. Sighing in delight, she sank her teeth into the sweet shell, enjoying the way the sugar crystals crunched as she crushed them between her teeth. Though some people hated the way the gummy jelly center stuck to one’s teeth, Karen secretly loved it; it was like a little bonus, getting to enjoy the flavor long after the candy was gone.

Thinking of their visit to Denver and the theater several years ago, Karen’s mind wandered to Bebe Stevens.

“I hope Tweek has Miss Bebe come here before they go off on their grand adventure. I sure would like to see her again.”

“That would be nice, wouldn’t it? I believe they’re planning on meeting in Colorado Springs before leaving for St. Louis, but I bet we could convince Tweek to send Bebe here first.” He gave Karen a playful wink. “We still have time to work on our sad puppy eyes. Guilt is a powerful motivator, you know.”

Karen, clutched his arm, letting out a chuckle. Kenny laughed along with her to keep up appearances. While he truly meant that statement in jest, the words immediately turned sour on his tongue. Guilt was what drove Tweek to South Park, afterall. Guilt, shame, fear, and hopelessness. 

Tweek had been vague on the reason for his visit when he swept into South Park like a whirlwind. The man was obviously shaken, haunted even, and it took nearly a week for his wild eyed look to calm and to partake in real conversation. It had been a little over a week after Tweek’s arrival when news of the train robbery reached South Park, and it didn’t take long for Kenny to put the pieces together. Kenny was livid when he realized the infamous Wildfire Phantom was in fact, his best friend. A man wanted for numerous felonies, and now, murder.

Tweek pleaded and swore that he didn’t have any stolen items in town with him, and that he would never tell them anything that could get them in trouble. Admittedly, Kenny lost his head at the revelation. He had since calmed down, but remained dubious about Tweek’s dealings; there had to be a better way to get money for Bebe’s treatment, wasn’t there?

The town hall was near full already and buzzing with chatter. As the McCormicks shuffled their way down a row to an open space on the bench, Kenny raised his hand to wave across the aisle at Clyde Donovan, who was just taking his seat next to the Tucker family. Craig Tucker poked at Clyde, dodging around him to see who he was waving at. Not at all perturbed, Clyde settled back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest, looking rather amused. With his friend out of his way, Craig’s curious face went blank at the freckled McCormick boy that greeted him. Craig gave Kenny a little wave, and swallowed hard as he whipped his head toward the small stage at the head of the building.

* * *

The Mayor’s voice droned on, hanging in the stifling air in mimicry of the breeze that refused to flow. The current topic was in regards to farmer Jenkins’s chicken coop, and whether a coyote had been snatching his hens, or if Darryl Weathers was responsible. Jenkins insisted that Darryl had it out for him ever since he took his sister to the Reaping Moon barn dance six years ago, but failed to court her afterward. Though Weathers was fit to be tied about the slight to his sister’s honor, in the time since the incident his sister had moved to Fairplay and married another man. It was the principle of the matter, he said, and Jenkins had failed to do the gentlemanly thing. 

Farmer Jenkins was adamant that Weathers was the culprit of his chickens’ demise, and truth be told, hot headed Darryl appeared rather guilty; however, like most intrapersonal squabbles, there was no true evidence to be found. So when the two men stood from their seats and began to shout at one another, the Mayor intervened, appeasing them for the time being by saying she would handle the matter with the two of them, in a private discussion after the town meeting. 

Sheriff Eric T. Cartman snorted as discreetly as he could (which wasn’t much) at the pettiness of the confrontation taking place in the middle of the town hall. Fantastic, that fine task would likely land in his lap. He didn’t give two shits about the missing fowl, and was of the opinion that both men had taken a high dive in a low well many years ago. No matter, it was his duty to protect South Park and keep peace between its citizens, even if that usually meant saving the buffoons from themselves. 

His time, the time of a _ sheriff _, was better suited to more important matters; like handling the recent rash of outlaws who were raiding the areas south of Denver. The outlaws were no doubt picking up the dregs that were easy pickings since the federal authorities were occupied with the aftermath of the recent robbery aboard the National Reserve shipment. 

Eric dabbed his handkerchief across his brow, pushing damp golden brown hair off his forehead, and began fanning himself with his hat. God damn, it was a hot one, and the heat was just as offensive as the buffoonery he was surrounded by. There were a few exceptions to the town idiocy, which included the person on his left, Deputy Mayor Wendy Testaburger. 

He’d known his entire life; schoolmate, rival, occasional object of his affection. Finding the two of them in their current positions wasn’t a surprise. They were similar in many ways, and though differing in many fundamental beliefs, as two-thirds of the team that was responsible for running South Park, they were unstoppable. Wendy had twisted her straight black hair into a tidy bun, and while she had not rolled up her shirt sleeves, Eric could make out the fine beads of sweat breaking out on her temple. 

She shifted in her seat, leaning toward him with her head bowed. 

“Are you sure it was prudent to leave the...sensitive matter for the end of the meeting?” 

Letting out a huff, Eric spoke from the side of his mouth, eyes still trained on the far wall of the room. That was one of the disadvantages to working with Wendy. She wasn’t afraid to challenge him.

“Well, If we bring it up any earlier, we won’t get to anything else on the agenda.”

“I suppose you’re right. No matter when we broach the topic, everyone will kick up a shit storm.”

The sheriff vaguely heard the Mayor transitioning to the main event of the evening, the true reason for this meeting. Grinning at Wendy, Eric stood, preparing himself for the dog and pony show that was about to commence. Wendy smirked back at him. They may not agree often, but they sure as shootin’ understood each other, because that’s what a small town does to people.

“One of the few things we can count on; the mob mentality of small town hicks.” 

Wendy tried to stifle a laugh, but the smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth betrayed her.

“I don’t entirely disagree with that sentiment; however, I do find it a bit crude for my taste.”

“Ah yes, another thing I can always count on.” Adjusting his belt, Eric puffed his chest and stepped toward the podium. “You and I never quite see eye to eye.”

Mayor McDaniels glanced back at the approaching Sheriff, giving him a nod and motioning for him to step up beside her. 

“Before we conclude this meeting, there is a serious matter we must tend to. Sheriff Cartman, I leave you the floor.”

Hitching up his belt buckle, Eric approached the podium. This was his time to shine. Time to show the citizens of South Park why he was sheriff; lay out all the solutions and anticipated questions he’d developed, which clearly demonstrated how they are left in his capable hands. And with a little excitement and sensation for their boring town to titillate, there’d be no problem getting them on the edge of their seats. 

Clearing his throat, he began. 

“As you all are likely well aware, there has been an increase in outlaw activity in the Colorado Territory following the War of Succession. Criminal groups have taken to the abandoned military forts and unused mines to plunder the areas outside of Denver, while their boldness has been incensed after the robbery aboard the train from the Federal Reserve.

“A US Marshal has been assigned to investigate the areas between Colorado Springs and Grand Junction, which of course, puts South Park smack dab in the middle of his jurisdiction. He will work directly with myself, the Mayor, and Deputy Mayor Testaburger to ascertain the whereabouts of and apprehend any outlaws in this area.”

Eric swept his eyes over the citizens of South Park. Ah yes, that was the look he expected; some slack jawed staring, raised eyebrows, children gripping their mother’s hands in both excitement and fear. When his gaze stopped on a bouncing blond in the front row, he flippantly gestured to the young man. 

“Oh, and of course we will have the aid of my Deputy, Leo Stotch.” 

To conceal his eye roll, Eric dabbed his brow with his handkerchief. Young Leopold “Butters” Stotch had a kind heart and a genuine desire to help the citizens of South Park, and while that seemed like fine qualities for a Deputy, Eric believed Leo’s philosophies to be too soft for the unforgiving environment they inhabited. 

“Moving on… Marshal Broflovski is expected to arrive in the next day or so, and South Park will be his host during this assignment. Specifically, the fine folks of Dark Meadows Ranch have graciously offered to lodge him for the duration. I expect no less than the usual enthusiasm and sterling behavior from all citizens to make him feel welcomed.”

Eric steeled himself. Being in the presence of a big city government agent was glamorous and quite a novelty to these people, but hopefully they could get all their embarrassing fussing out of the way before the man arrived in town. Surely, the Marshal already had an inflated ego, and Eric didn’t need the cityslicker to get distracted by starry eyed bumpkins fawning over him.

“While our priority is apprehending the emboldened outlaws, Marshal Broflovski is tasked with bringing to justice the infamous outlaw known as the Wildfire Phantom-” 

The townsfolk drowned out his voice with an eruption of chatter and gasps. After several moments, he waved his hand dismissively at the people to quiet them.

“Yes yes, it’s all very exciting. As you’ve most likely heard, this particular outlaw is wanted for half a dozen counts of grand larceny, but his most recent stunt has made him one of the most wanted men in the country.”

“Most wanted man?” Once again, Eric was interrupted. Though this time, the voice came from behind him. Wendy. “Why are you so sure the Phantom isn’t a woman? No one has seen their face.”

Eric pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Because Wendy, women do not have the mental capacity to create a complex and nuanced plan for robbery, and remain rational in stressful situations. The Wildfire Phantom earned the name by using smoke and explosives to remain hidden, and the face of the outlaw has never been seen...until recently. Approximately four weeks ago, the Phantom infiltrated a train en route from the Federal Reserve in Philadelphia to Denver, but a member of the law enforcement was able to see _ his _ face.”

Wendy huffed, but Eric ignored her. Damn it, he was going to finish his speech come hell or high water.

“Moreover, the outlaw committed his first confirmed murder, which has increased his bounty considerably. This man is considered to be highly dangerous and unpredictable, if sighted, immediately go to myself or Marshal Broflovski with information related to this individual. Do not approach, and do not engage... Oh yes, you may also bring any information to Deputy Stotch.” 

Mayor McDaniels stepped forward and leaned over the podium, giving the townsfolk a stern glare.

“And DO NOT form some sort of vigilante posse to-” 

Randy Marsh stood up, whooping and climbing to stand on the bench. 

“Yeah, that’s it, a vigilante posse! This is America! We don’t take kindly to outlaws here! C’mon men, grab your guns and let’s ride!”

Sharon Marsh gave a rough yank to her husband’s shirttails, and hissed at him to stop causing a scene.

“Randy, _ sit down _.”

Pouting like a child, Randy took his seat, but the more hot headed citizens were already whipped into a frenzy of excitement.

“_ Rabble rabble rabble! _”

“_ Rabble! Rabble, rabble! _”

“People! Shouting ‘rabble rabble’ isn’t going to help anything.” 

Mayor McDaniels sighed, a deep and weary exhale that Eric empathized with completely. Though he was also becoming exhausted by this ridiculousness, he would have the last word.

“We expect everyone to be on their _ best behavior _ during Marshal Broflovski’s tenure, so please keep the good reputation of South Park at the forefront of your thoughts over the coming months. This is my town-” 

Eric coughed 

“Excuse me -_ our _ town, and we will not let some wild dogs disturb our peace and prosperitah!”

The citizens of South Park erupted in cheers, some from town pride, some at the prospect of hunting down some no good outlaws. But amidst the chaos, Karen McCormick took her brother Kenny’s hand as their frightened eyes met.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @hagspice on all the things, come say hi!


End file.
